Natalie’s phone chimed with the arrival of an email from MyAncestry, sending a ripple of anticipation through her. Finally, she was going to get some answers about her heritage—a mystery ever since she’d been left as a newborn on the steps of an upstate New York police station. But when she clicked on the message, it said only that her test results were “sensitive in nature” and best discussed in person.
Don’t panic, she told herself, but her brain was already compiling a list of deadly conditions that the DNA test had revealed she was doomed to develop.
Two days later, she was stepping off a bus in front of their downtown office, her stomach tied in a scout-caliber knot. She attempted deep breathing exercises during the elevator ride to the fifteenth floor, where she was greeted by a receptionist who looked like they’d stepped off the cover of Vogue.
“Last room on the right, hon,” they said when Natalie gave her name, pointing a boldly manicured finger to the corridor running behind them.
Passing a series of closed doors along the way, she approached the glassed-in conference room at the end of the hallway. Inside, a grey-haired man sporting thick glasses was gesturing animatedly as he said something unintelligible to a baby-faced guy who kept shaking his head. They fell silent when they saw her coming.
As she entered the room, Glasses Man rose to his feet and offered her a weak smile along with his right hand.
“Hello, Ms. Sloan. Jeremy McDaniels,” he said, a hint of an Irish brogue coloring the words.
“And this is my colleague, Devon Pembroke.”
“Hi,” she replied, shyly shaking his hand and giving an awkward little wave to the younger man, who remained seated and gave a small nod.
“Please, have a seat,” Jeremy said. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thanks,” she replied, settling into a sleek chair that was surprisingly comfortable. “To be honest, I’d really just like to know what’s going on. Is there something wrong with me?”
The two men exchanged a look that Natalie couldn’t read.
“Actually, from what we can tell, there are no indications of medical concerns,” Jeremy replied. “However,”—the word cut short her surge of relief—"Your test results are quite…unusual.”
Anxiety came flooding back in. “What do you mean, unusual?” she asked, her heart thudding like a tap dancer on speed.
Jeremy raised his eyebrows at Devon, who pushed the hair out of his eyes and cleared his throat.
“We ran the test a number of times to be certain,” he began, his voice remarkably deep.
“The results always came back the same. Your DNA simply does not match up to the genetic signature associated with people from any part of the world.”
Natalie frowned in confusion. “So…you mean my ancestors came from a long-lost continent or something?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” Devon replied. An awkward pause ensued as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Had she imagined a flicker of sympathy in his pale blue eyes?
Jeremy broke the silence. “What we’re saying, Ms. Sloan, is that the test results prove you are undoubtedly the descendant of an extraterrestrial race,” he said matter-of-factly.
She gaped at him, a laugh-snort escaping. “Wait—are you guys seriously trying to tell me that I’m related to fucking E.T.?”
Not bothering to wait for an answer, she leapt to her feet, nearly knocking the chair over. “I don’t know whether I’m being pranked here or you’re just a couple of whack jobs, but I’ve heard enough,” she said, bolting for the door.
With surprising speed, Jeremy sprang up, blocking her way. “My apologies,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. She saw the syringe a moment before he jabbed it into her neck.
Shock and pain vied for dominance as the room spun in a dark imitation of the Tilt-A-Whirl ride she’d loved as a girl. Her whole body felt fuzzy as if she had popped the entire jar of edibles this morning instead of only one. The lone thought her woozy mind could manage as she collapsed to the floor was What the hell is happening?
She was vaguely aware of being dragged across the room, her cute new sandals bumping along the polished concrete floor. Natalie willed herself to scream, to fight back, to do something, but her body ignored the pleas from her brain. There was the click and creak of a door being opened, then she was pulled across the threshold and laid down on a hard surface that made her skin erupt in goosebumps.
Squinting in the sudden glare of powerful overhead lights, she had a blurry impression of a narrow room lined with metal supply cabinets. The crushing weight of terror made it
difficult to breathe.
Devon stood to her left, his gaze directed at the back of the room. “You can’t go through with this,” he said. It sounded more like a plea than a statement.
She heard the clang-clang of metal on metal before Jeremy responded from somewhere behind her. “You need to focus on the big picture, Devon,” he said, sounding annoyed. “We have a duty as scientists to make the most of this opportunity. It’s the biggest discovery of our lives, for Christ’s sake.”
“But she’s so young,” Devon murmured.
“I know you feel sorry for her, but our work will ensure that her name becomes legendary,” Jeremy replied, his tone softening. “To say nothing of the fact that it will put you on the map in the scientific community—you’ll finally be able to get the funding you need to finish your research on early-stage pancreatic cancer markers. Think about how many lives that’s going to save!”
Devon let out a resigned sigh as Natalie tried to process the words.
No—don’t listen to him! Please help me! she pleaded with her eyes, but he avoided looking at her.
There was the squeak of wheels rolling across the floor, and then Jeremy appeared beside her, undisguised excitement on his face. Beside him, an array of surgical instruments glittered under the harsh lights.
Natalie could only shed silent tears as she understood that the real testing was about to begin.
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